


The messenger

by UMsArchive



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-Kings Rising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 17:36:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13323120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UMsArchive/pseuds/UMsArchive
Summary: “Is my dear Berenger more sullen than usual, tonight?” he asks draping himself on the opposite couch, where they can't accidentlly touch him, but have the most appealing sight of him.“He ought to be,” another laughs, “We’ve received a messenger from Akielos half an hour ago. It's over for Prince Laurent. He's been tried for treason and will be executed - was, by now.”





	The messenger

There's a lot of boisterous laughing across the room when Ancel enters with his usual flourish. These are all the Regent's men, he’s learnt along the way. And used it. Berenger was all above pretending he liked people, but, for Ancel, that was just his life.

 

They all want Ancel. And it boosts these men's ego for Ancel to seek their company - the pet of one of Laurent's supporter, too, letting his master for hours to spend time with them instead - and listen to them attentively as the brainless pretty pet he is. In the meantime, Ancel gets the information and retells it to Berenger later, filtered, for Berenger to filter it further.

 

There has been a lot of it, too. They say the Prince has been seducing powerful people and turned against Vere, including the Prince Torvelt when he's visited. That the current one is the Prince-killer himself, came back from the dead, and that Prince Laurent has invited him into his bed for the price of his Akielon soldiers.

 

Quietly, Ancel himself admires the Prince further, if it's the truth. _What kind of person that doesn't even seem to enjoy fucking goes out there and spreads his legs for gain?_ A whole lot of people, actually. It's only more enviable in him, as a Prince. He's not trading in jewellery or money, but forts and armies and thrones. Ancel thinks he might side with Laurent just as much as Berenger does, if only for reasons Berenger wouldn't appreciate so much.

 

“Ancel, sweetheart, take a bit of pitty in your master at least tonight and lend him your shoulder,” one says lewdly.

 

“Is my dear Berenger more sullen than usual, tonight?” he asks draping himself on the opposite couch, where they can't _accidentlly_ touch him, but have the most appealing sight of him.

 

“He ought to be,” another laughs, “We’ve received a messenger from Akielos half an hour ago. It's over for Prince Laurent. He's been tried for treason and will be executed - _was_ , by now.”

 

Ancel pushes away the sudden sinking feeling to respond appropriately with a playful gasp, as if it is no more than any other court gossip.

 

“Lord Berenger asks you to dine in his rooms tonight,” a servant leans in, in a rather loud whisper.

 

“You were right, gentlemen, there's my call,” Ancel sits up gingerly with an affected sigh. “I suppose I will see you _tomorrow_ ,” he winks with a meaningful glint and walks out, slowly and sensually.

 

Only when he finds an empty corridor he lets something akin to horror overcome him. Of course, it has always been a possibility. But he has started to enjoy life too much lately. With Barenger gone, there will come another, just as or even richer, of course. And yet-

 

Berenger stands by the window. His profile is stone hard and he doen't look at Ancel. “Did you make it obvious this will be the last night you spend with me?”

 

 _So it is true._ Ancel gulps, though his throat is dry. “I did.” Flatly.

 

“Tomorrow, a lot of them will bid for you, if only for the satisfaction of humiliating me further through it. I’ll accept the bid coming from whichever is closest to the Regent. That will keep you safe,” he says, hands clasped at his back, looking out the window.

 

“Of course,” Ancel responds neutrally, waiting for something else, anything.

 

“Let's have dinner,” Berenger pushes the topic away, as if it doesn't mean it's the end of him. As if it doesn't mean this strangely delectable something will be taken from Ancel, too.

 

***

 

“Sir, a rider has arrived!” a door is slammed open by a servant waking them up early in the morning, Berenger quickly covering himself up; Ancel, not so shy.

 

“A rider from where?”

 

“Akielos.”

 

“Another, so soon after the first?” Berenger's face is ashen. This could only mean he suspects it to be-

 

“All court members are invited to the Great Hall for its reading, sir.”

 

“Thank you,” Berenger dismisses the servant and then they are alone. Berenger looks sick.

 

“This is-,” Ancel breaks the silence.

 

“It ought to be,” Berenger sits up, rubbing his face with a deep sigh. “Weeding out the _traitors_ in the Prince's faction right after the completion of the execution, so we wouldn't have the time to run,” he says, numbly picking up the crumpled shirt from yesterday and shrugging it on.

 

“Would you have run?” Ancel asks, thinking of all the time lost in saying their goodbyes.

 

A pause in talking, in Berenger's movements-

 

“There's nowhere to.” Then, “Ancel, choose me a coat.”

 

Ancel walks up, surprised to find himself feeling hazy as he goes. When it comes to Berenger, ‘choosing a coat’ is not exactly a lucrative action. One model in plenty of brown is all he ever buys. Ancel opens his wardrobe with the absurd realization that his hands are shaking. _It's_ _ridiculous_ , _stop_. And he does stop in his track. There's a new patch of colour, beyond the brown. He remembers telling Berenger something blue or red would fit him nicely. The new coat is blue, of course.

 

He can feel Berenger's gaze on him as he ties its laces, but he doesn't look up, keeping himself distracted with his work.

 

“Do I go, too?” he asks eventually, still not looking at him.

 

“No,” comes the answer definitively.

 

“Yes, I am,” Ancel dismisses the order with impertinence, a challenging look shot at his owner.

 

Berenger doesn't answer, and Ancel doesn't wait for him to, going to his own wardrobe and dressing up quickly and with expertise, brushing his hair and putting on jewellery, but opting out of paint. Turning to Berenger, he finds him in the same spot, looking nowhere in particular.

 

“Let's go, then,” he says, giving Ancel his arm without looking back, upon sensing his approach.

 

The Great Hall is full. The messenger breaks the seal.

 

With the message open, its backside now up and in full view, Ancel recognises on the paper something he's seen before on things quickly read and just as soon discarded of in the fire, received from the-

 

“ _The signet of the Prince_ ,” a horrified voice echoes everyone's thoughts.

 

And then silence. Deafening silence. As everyone’s waiting for an answer, holding their breaths - Ancel, too.

 

The messenger clears his throat. “As ratified by the honourable Council of Vere and in accordance with Veretian Law, under the Act of Treason, conspiracy to treason and threat of treason, I hereby condemn the late Regent of Vere to death, effect immediately, and authorise the detention of the following members of the esteemed Veretian Court, suspended from and stripped of their rights and privileges until further questioning-”

 

The list is read out loud, clearly, and present guards, although priorly part of the Regent’s men, although stupefied looking themselves, sprint into action, getting hold of and carrying out nobles too taken aback to react by anything but shock and indignation and something of fear. Although logically he can make the connection, although there is no way to it, Ancel still listens with anticipation throughout the whole list, still relieved whenever a name is someone else but Berenger, still moved by the sight of pets whose noble patron is sized, and they're being given a quizzical look by the guards, then just abandoned in confusion and alone in the Great Hall.

 

“-Signed, Crown Prince Laurent of Vere and Acquiart, True Legitimate Successor to the Throne of Vere and Acquiart,” the messenger rolls up his parchment, another silence following the previous struggle.

 

The halls are left with some lone confused pets, those nobles indifferent to the fights for the throne and those of Prince Laurent's faction, Berenger one of them. Berenger, standing next to him, wearing a coat in the blue of the starburst’s background and a paled face, a whole new significance to it.

 

“Do I get a celebration gift?” Ancel asks coyly as way of getting his attention.

 

It works. Berenger finally snaps out of it, looking back at him. And he laughs. He laughs out loud in a carefree way like probably none of the other courtiers have seen him before. And they do throw him surprised looks. But he's not looking at them. He's looking at Ancel.

 

“Anything," Berenger says with cheerfulness he's never displayed before. Even his eyes are shining, looking back at him.

 

"Something big. But I'll think about what exactly, for a while. We do have the time, after all."


End file.
